Andrea Kane (38 page)

He framed her face between his palms, brought her mouth back to his. “I’d rather make you remember. And I will, just as soon as we’ve destroyed your uncle and brought him and his crooked associates to justice.”

It seemed days rather than hours before the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed twelve, heralding the noon hour and the time Damen had said he’d be returning to his Town house.

Anastasia spent the morning the only way her frayed nerves would allow her: she paced through every room in the house, covering both levels and never sitting down.

The servants were kind and understanding, offering her meals, tea, a library of books to read. But all she could think about was Damen and what he might be finding out at the bank. That, and Breanna, and whatever had taken place between her and her father yesterday.

Although she was significantly less worried about the latter since Wells’s note had arrived this morning.

Actually, it had arrived last night, but Proust had waited until morning to present it to Damen, handing it to him the minute he and Anastasia strolled into the dining room. The two of them had read it together, and Anastasia had nearly wept with joy at how cheery the message sounded. According to Wells, he was writing at Miss Breanna’s request. She was feeling lonely since her cousin’s departure and would like some company. Therefore, she was cordially inviting Lord Sheldrake to either tea or a late lunch the following day.

Which meant today.

“That’s Wells’s way of assuring us Breanna is all right,” Anastasia declared, rereading the message. “He’s also suggesting that afternoon would be the best time for your visit. Uncle George probably has business away from Medford Manor.” Anastasia sighed with relief. “I only wish Proust had delivered this note the instant it arrived. I would have slept much better.”

Damen had cocked a brow, glancing about to make sure the dining room was deserted. “May I remind you that I practically accosted Proust the first time he interrupted us? I hardly think he’d choose to take me on again, especially when I hadn’t mentioned expecting another piece of urgent correspondence last night.” A provocative twinkle. “With regard to your sleeping better, that’s a moot point since you didn’t really sleep at all. I can attest to that fact.”

Anastasia had been cheerfully unable to dispute that logic.

Right after breakfast, Damen had put their plan into motion. He’d gone to the bank as usual, ready to act as if nothing was amiss while keeping a keen eye on the mail, and on whoever touched it. Later in the morning, he intended to announce that he had an afternoon appointment, after which he’d ride out to Medford Manor.

Making an unscheduled stop at his Town house to pick up a passenger.

It was ten past twelve when Anastasia heard the key turn in the front door.

She flew to the entranceway, nearly knocking down Damen’s butler in the process. “You’re home,” she gasped, seizing Damen’s forearms and tugging him inside. “Tell me what happened.”

He glanced back over his shoulder, then gestured for his butler to shut the door. “You’re supposed to be staying out of sight,” he reminded Anastasia with a dark scowl. “What if it hadn’t been me at the door?”

She shot him a defiant look. “Just who else has a key to your home?”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Good point. No one.” He guided her into the sitting room, then drew her close, covering her mouth in a slow, lingering kiss. “Just so you know, that’s how I’d like to be welcomed home each day.”

“With pleasure, my lord.” Anastasia leaned back in his arms, searched his face. She could see beyond the bantering, sense the strain beneath it. “You didn’t figure out who he is.”

Damen shook his head. “I know as little as I did yesterday. I saw the mail arrive. No one went near it during the quarter hour it sat up front. Then, Graff distributed it, leaving my personal letters on my desk. I glanced through my correspondence the moment he walked out. There was nothing from M. Rouge. I then intentionally left my door open and my room unattended to see if any of the bank officers went in, inspected my mail. They’re the only people with access to that private section of the bank. Although it’s hard for me to believe any of them could be guilty. They’ve been with me for years. Still, I can’t be influenced by sentiment. I intend to catch this bastard, whoever he is. In any case, the point was a moot one.”

“No one took the bait?”

“Not a soul so much as stepped into my office, much less examined my mail.” Damen sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “It was a wasted effort. In fact, the only productive thing I did all morning was to put on a convincing show. Anyone scrutinizing me would think it was a day like any other. That way, should my scrutinizer meet with your uncle, he can truthfully say I behaved in my typical fashion. George will have to conclude that your absence came as no unwelcome surprise to me, which would support your claim that it was I who advised you to go to Philadelphia.”

“Or indicate that you haven’t an inkling that I’ve gone at all,” Anastasia pointed out. “Uncle George will probably try to find out, either directly or through his informant, which of the two it is. Not that it would alter his plans. Either way, I’m sure he’ll be sending Meade after me.” An ironic smile touched her lips. “But while it won’t alter his plans, it will certainly improve his humor if he decides the latter is true. Just think, if I acted on my own, with no urging from you, Uncle George would have the pleasure of telling you what I’d done. You’d doubtless be furious at the recklessness of my actions, and more than ready to wash your hands of me.”

“Turning my full attentions to Breanna.”

“Exactly.”

Damen sucked in his breath. “Every time I think about what that bastard has planned, what he means to do to you, I want to choke him with my bare hands.”

“I know,” Anastasia responded quietly. “But then you’d be the one in prison and I’d have to live without you. I don’t intend to do that. Nor do I intend to let whoever’s deceiving you continue on at the House of Lockewood, unknown and unpunished. The same applies to Bates, Lyman, Meade, and whoever else is involved in this.”

“Like M. Rouge and his contemptible clients,” Damen muttered. He straightened, shot Anastasia a probing look. “Are you ready to go on our little jaunt?”

A terse nod.
“Very
ready.”

Damen’s closed carriage rounded the drive at Medford Manor, coming to a halt before the front steps.

“Don’t forget,” he cautioned under his breath. “Stay under that blanket. Don’t move or poke that curious head of yours out to see what’s going on. We don’t know for sure that your uncle is away. Nor do we want any of the servants to see you. Remember: you’re on a ship on your way to Philadelphia.”

“And you’re alone in a carriage having a conversation with a horse blanket,” came the muffled retort from beneath the opposite seat.

Damen rolled his eyes, torn between amusement and worry. He knew Anastasia. And she wasn’t going to stay still for long—especially after a lengthy, cramped carriage ride from London, during which she’d been allowed to emerge and stretch her legs only when the roads they’d been traveling were deserted enough to ensure she wasn’t detected—and, even then, only after the carriage curtains had been tightly drawn.

Oh, Damen knew how much Anastasia loathed confinement of any kind. But he wasn’t taking any chances with her safety.

“I’ll linger inside only as long as I have to,” he advised the horse blanket. He bent down, as if to retrieve his glove. “Promise me you’ll stay put.”

“Promise me you’ll bring Breanna.”

He grinned. “I promise.”

“Then so do I.”

“Good.” Damen straightened just in time for his driver to come around, open the door. “Wait here,” he instructed the driver in a normal tone, as he alighted from the carriage. “I’ll be out shortly. You’ll be taking Lady Breanna and me for a ride in the country.”

“Very good, my lord.” The driver nodded, shutting the door and resuming his seat at the reins.

Damen climbed the steps and knocked.

Wells opened the door at once. “Ah, Lord Sheldrake,” he greeted. “Lady Breanna will be delighted to see you.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing her as well.” Damen glanced down the hallway, trying to determine if George was at home.

“I hope you don’t have pressing business to discuss with the viscount,” Wells continued. “He had an appointment in Town and won’t be back for several hours. He’ll be sorry he missed you.”

“Ah.” Damen shot Wells a grateful look. “That’s quite all right. My business with the viscount can wait. I really came to see Lady Breanna.”

“Then I won’t keep you waiting.” Breanna reached the bottom of the staircase, smiling as she approached Damen. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“As am I.” Damen cleared his throat. “I realize you invited me for tea, but it’s such a beautiful summer day that I thought perhaps you’d enjoy a ride in the country instead. Unless, of course, you haven’t eaten.”

“I’ve solved that problem,” Wells interrupted. “Wait here.” He hurried off, reappearing scant minutes later carrying a basket. “Mrs. Rhodes was kind enough to pack up these sandwiches. She’d prepared them for you to eat in the garden, but they’ll taste just as good elsewhere. So long as you’re enjoying the summer day, it doesn’t matter where you are.”

“Thank you, Wells.” Breanna squeezed his arm.

“Go,” he urged, gesturing toward the still-open door. “Have a good time.” He leaned forward to hand Damen the basket, briefly whispering something to Breanna as he bent past her.

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t reply.

Three minutes later, Breanna and Damen were both settled in the carriage, basket and all, and the driver was urging the horses around the bend.

“Not yet,” Damen warned in a hard voice. “Don’t move or speak. Not until we’re beyond the gates and I’ve drawn the curtains.”

Breanna blinked in surprise, thinking at first that Damen was addressing her. Then, she followed his line of vision and smiled as she spotted the lumpy blanket beneath her seat. “Why, Lord Sheldrake, is that for me— a token of your esteem, perhaps?”

“Don’t sound so enthused,” he retorted dryly. “You might return it once you see how much trouble it is.”

A grunt of protest emerged from beneath the blanket.

Laughter bubbled up in Breanna’s throat. “Does that mean
you
wish to return it?”

With a profound shake of his head, Damen leaned forward and stared at the blanket, all teasing having vanished. “No. You see, as fate would have it, this is one gift I can’t seem to live without.”

“Then, indeed, it should be yours.” Visibly moved, Breanna followed Damen’s gaze, her own filled with the joyful knowledge that Anastasia had found her future. “As you should be hers.” She reached down, touched the blanket ever so lightly. “The gates are just ahead,” she said soothingly. “We’re almost there.”

“Breanna, what did Wells say to you as we were leaving?” Damen asked curiously. “Or am I prying?”

“Not at all.” Breanna’s sparkle returned. “He said there’s more than enough food in the basket to serve three.”

Damen’s lips curved. “So he
does
know.”

“Wells knows everything.” A smug lift of her chin. “Except when Stacie and I are switching places.”

An impatient thump resounded from beneath the blanket.

“We’re driving through the gates now,” Damen answered. “I know you’re eager. But I’ve got to make sure you’re not seen. Concealing your presence by switching places with Breanna is one thing. But it would be a little hard to explain you away by claiming you’re Breanna if you’re both sitting beside me at the same time. Give me a minute or two to create the illusion that Breanna and I are seeking some privacy. Then you can come out.”

The ensuing silence signified Anastasia’s agreement.

They rounded the corner onto the road, and Damen rose out of his seat, jerked the curtains closed on both sets of windows. He squatted down and yanked the blanket off Anastasia’s head. “You’re free, little hellion.” He offered her his hand. “Come on out.”

Anastasia squirmed out of her hiding place, blowing strands of hair off her face. She accepted Damen’s assistance, clutching his fingers and scrambling out and onto the seat beside Breanna.

The girls hugged, and Anastasia heaved an enormous sigh of relief. “Thank God you’re all right.”

“I? You’re
the one who dashed down to the London docks alone.”

“I wasn’t alone for long. Damen rode in and rescued me like a knight-in-shining-armor.”

Her analogy made Breanna smile. “Still the same romantic Stacie. Clearly, you’re none the worse for your adventure.”

“And you?” Anastasia asked quietly. “Are you any the worse for yours?”

Breanna didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I’m fine. I thought you’d figure that out from Wells’s note.”

“I did.” Anastasia drew back, gripped her cousin’s hands. “But I needed to see for myself.” She studied her cousin’s face closely, seeing remnants of evidence that Damen had missed. “Uncle George hit you.”

Breanna’s shrug was nonchalant. “At first, along with a fair amount of shouting and threats. But that’s over now.”

“What do you mean?”

With more than a touch of pride, Breanna recounted her showdown with her father.

“You threatened to shoot him?” Damen repeated in amazement.

“I certainly did. Very convincingly, if I must say so myself. Believe me, Father won’t touch me again. He’s too terrified of a scandal, and of the possibility that he might lose you as an ally and future son-in-law.”

“An ally,” Damen muttered. “I’m hardly that.”

“But Father doesn’t know that, at least not yet.”

“Where is Uncle George now?” Anastasia asked.

“With Mr. Lyman,” Breanna supplied. “Wells said that’s who Father dashed off a note to last night.”

Anastasia and Damen exchanged glances.

“He’s arranging for Meade to find me,” Anastasia murmured, catching her lower lip between her teeth. “That doesn’t give us much time. The ship I allegedly took is only one day ahead of him. And how many ships could have left for the States in that amount of time? Not many.”